The Valley of the Shadow of Death
by BrochanInWords
Summary: My own take on something that could have happened with Cas during Naomi's brainwashing season. Oneshot, lots of angst.


**A/N: This is set... somewhere? I honestly have no idea, it is around Naomi, though! Enjoy, and I LOVE reviews if you have time!**

"Weep for yourself, my man,  
You'll never be what is in your heart  
Weep little lion man,  
You're not as brave as you were at the start  
Rate yourself and rake yourself,  
Take all the courage you have left  
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head,"

Castiel dodged another blow from an angel blade, the cold steel in his own hand a cruel reminder of his last resort. He didn't want to kill another brother. He didn't even think he could. If he were being honest with himself, if this fight went on any longer, he wasn't going to hold off his brother any longer—he was too tired for that, and guilt had driven a nail into his gut, making it difficult to even defend himself from the blows. He had this coming, after all.

If he saw what Heaven had become, he wasn't sure he could come back from that. It wasn't a simple matter of apologizing, and it wasn't a matter of time healing all wounds, for angels were far too old to adhere to that rule. He would kill himself, and he had told Dean as much. If he saw the destruction he had caused… Being too full of sorrow to hate himself for thinking something like that—anymore than he already did—the thought was a distasteful seed growing in his mind, its roots wrapping around every good memory and pleasant emotion that he had. It was tainting him.

The angel pulled back from a blow and danced with ease and practice around the panting, black-haired figure. "My entire garrison. Do you remember them? Do you remember the battle in Mesopotamia? I had been cornered by the prince's hellhounds, and there were so many of them, tearing at my wings and my true form and… I remember you, Castiel, with all you're power and righteous wrath. Rescuing me. I promised myself that one day I would repay you for that. Now? The only way you deserve to be repaid, is through penance." Jaziah spun his blade expertly, dropping once again into a fighter's stance. However, Castiel's own sword hand dropped, one jerking motion at a time, until the silver weapon flashed at his side. He loosened his fingers and it fell to the sand with a soft thud.

"I…I'm sorry, brother. I'm so…"

"Don't call me that. You have no right. You are nothing but a traitor."

Castiel's expression creased from silent pain. Well, good, Jaziah thought that he should feel as much agony as possible before he met his end. It was, though, a shock when the man (he was more of a man than an angel, anyway) dropped to his knees and looked up at him through Jimmy Novak's bright blue eyes. "If this… is what you must do, Jaziah, then I understand. I just ask one thing." Jaziah sneered, but didn't show any sign of interrupting, so Cas continued on, "I… beg you, to someday, if possible… That, after this, you might find it within yourself to-to forgive me."

Jaziah stood stock-still for what seemed like an eternity. Castiel watched the shifting of his true form, the way his wings quivered and his translucent breast revealed a fast-beating, glowing heart. It was another minute before he did anything, and when he did, he was raising his angel blade in the air, his face stony with resolve. Cas swallowed and narrowed his eyes, turning his head downward until his chin brushed against his chest.

" _Please_ , forgive me."

The brief quiet after his softly spoken words was filled with the howling of wind. Jaziah's whisper filled that void a moment later,

"No."

The angel blade was thrust downward. Castiel tensed for the familiar sensation. Instead, Jaziah's screaming filled the air—Castiel jumped from his place on the ground, snatching his own blade from the sand on the way up, crystal-like particles raining from the sharpened metal. His fellow angel was now on his knees, one hand twisted around and pressing against a bloodied spot on his back. Melted angel blade.

Crowley.

"The King of Hell actually has a bone to pick with the trenchcoat. Sorry to spoil your fun."

Castiel snarled and repositioned the blade, raising it. There were three demons. He had fought hordes, when he had purpose and desire. He glanced between their twisted faces, taking in the gnarled, lumpy flesh and blackened eyes. The one in the middle approached him, raising a gun up and aiming center-mass. Cas watched his breaths, saw into the depths of the abomination's throat, the red lava bubbling beneath the surface of the vessel and the raven-colored smoke that wafted into the air.

He saw the creature's finger squeeze the trigger, and he dropped to the floor as the bullet whizzed above his head, right where he had been standing a moment ago. He rolled over and leaped back to his feet, charging to close the distance between them. He slashed, catching the demon in the throat. Orange light erupted from the wound as he yanked the blade out. The next demon that came up behind him ended with an angel blade protruding from its solar plexus, and the remaining one, who attempted to punch the angel in the face, found herself with a hand grasping her forehead. The pained yell that followed cut through the quiet night, and as soon as her eyes burst into flames, Castiel pulled away. "You are going to have to do better than that." He turned around, shoulders hunched, and walked back to Jaziah's side. He knelt.

Jaziah cried out, leaning forward until his head touched the ground. His white jacket was now soaked in blood, and his true form was pulsing with pain. "D-don't touch me!"

Heart clenching in his chest, Castiel pulled one of his brother's arms over his shoulders and helped him to his feet, despite his cries of distress. Jaziah didn't have the strength to fight back, it seemed, and Cas almost wished that he did. He needed to get him to the angels.

"I'm going to help you," he assured under his breath. The other angel struggled weakly.

"This-this is your fault."

Castiel felt a pang of regret. He didn't choose to mess up so consistently and colossally, it just seemed to… happen. Preparing himself, Castiel stretched out his wings and shook off the shimmering feathers. The two figures slipped into the Ether, carried by the elder angel's black wings, and appeared a moment later they landed in an empty motel room. He had seen Sam and Dean renting a room before, but he didn't exactly have time for that. He deposited Jaziah onto the single bed, face-first, and ignored his shout of discomfort. He vanished inside the Ether once more, stopping in various places to collect the supplies he needed to treat the wounded soldier. Once he had returned, he deftly tore away Jaziah's—vessel's—shirt,

"This is going to hurt," he warned not a half second before extracting the bullet. The angel buried his face in the mattress and let out a muted scream.

With that, he placed a hand over the gaping, crimson gash, his eyes glowing a comforting shade of blue as he called his Grace to heal. Skin and ethereal flesh mended.

"There," his voice was raw and gravely, even more so than usual.

Jaziah instantly flipped over and clambered away from Castiel as if he were diseased. Cas's heart clenched for the millionth time that day. He deserved no less, of course, he had only thought that he would get less of a… cold reaction now. He should have known better. He had killed so many…

"Stay away from me."

If anything, the younger looked afraid.

"I am not going to hurt you, Jaziah. I helped."

"No. You are a traitor. I don't know what your agenda is, Castiel, but this will never make me forgive you. Never. I would have rather died than be Healed by your bloodied hands."

Castiel opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, his brother had vanished.

There wasn't even a moments peace before he heard Dean's voice in his head, a gruff, skeptical sound…

Dear Castiel, why don't you get your feathered backside to Minnesota… uh, we've got some angels down here. Just get over here. Motel's called TriLights, just off the highway. Room 45.

It was considerably more… considerate than most of the things Dean had said in this form of message before. Cas sighed heavily.

Come on, Cas.

He sighed again and prepared his wings, but before he made the jump, he was there-there, in Naomi's office. His heart hammered and plummeted, and a lump formed in his throat, which, he thought that was sadly human of him. He couldn't control it.

"Now, Castiel. You go when I tell you. But I'm afraid your little stunt with Jaziah… Well, I need to know I have your complete… loyalty."

"No, Naomi, I…"

"There, there, Castiel. Remember, I know what you're thinking. It isn't that hard. And I know how badly you want to help the Winchesters. But…"

What he wanted was to be free of this merciless cycle. What he wanted was to be okay again.

But the past few years had wreaked havoc. Too much.

The re-education was gruesome and painful and all because he thought and used free will and loved humanity. All because he wanted to do the right thing, and never could.

Sam and Dean waited for a good two hours before the angel finally arrived. Dean was already yelling before Cas had even taken a breath with which to speak,

"Where the h3ll have you been, man!"

Cas didn't have a good answer. He couldn't remember much of anything these days—it was as if entire days just… went missing. He felt defiled, and he couldn't explain why. He felt broken, and he didn't know what to do to fix it.

What finally came out of his mouth was not what he intended, but it was the only thing that seemed to make sense to him now.

"What we say under the surface almost undid me."


End file.
